In point of fact they did not “fix” the women that night, owing to the simple reason that they found the camp deserted—not a sign of woman or child in sight or hearing.
“Well, there’s one thing about it,” Ralph said on their way back to the New Camp the next morning, “you can always beat any woman’s game by just ignoring it. They can stand anything but not being noticed. Now our play is to do nothing and say nothing. They’re on this island somewhere. They can’t walk off it, and they can’t swim off it, and they can’t fly off it. They may stay away for day or more or possibly two. By the end of week they’ll certainly be starved out. And they’ll be longing for our society. We want to keep right at work as if nothing had happened. Let them go and come as they please. But we take no notice—see! We’ve done that once before and we can do it again. When they come home, they’ll be a pretty tired-out, hungry, discouraged gang of girls. I bet we never hear another word out of them on this subject.”
The men worked as usual the whole morning; but they talked less. They were visibly preoccupied. At every pause, they glanced furtively up the trail. When noon came, it was evident that they dropped their tools with relief. They sat with their eyes glued to the path.
“Here they come!” Billy exclaimed at last.
The men did not speak; nor until they came to the little knoll that debouched from the trail did the women. Again Julia acted as spokesman. “We have given you a night to think this matter over,” she said briefly. “What is your decision? Shall Angela’s wings go uncut?”
“No, by God!” burst out Ralph. “No daughter of mine is going to fly. If you—.”
But with a silencing gesture, Billy interposed. “Aren’t you women happy?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Julia answered. “Of course we’re not. I mean we have one kind of happiness—the happiness that come’s from being loved and having a home and children. But there is another kind of happiness of which when you cut our wings we were no longer capable—the happiness that comes from a sense of absolute freedom. We can bear that for ourselves, but not for our daughters. Angela and all the girl-children who follow her must have the freedom that we have lost. Will you give it to them?”
“No!” Ralph yelled. And “Go home!” Honey said brutally.
The women turned.